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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25797706">Wounds to Bear</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lufthexe/pseuds/lufthexe'>lufthexe</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hellboy (Movies 2004-2008)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, F/M, Incest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 09:55:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,621</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25797706</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lufthexe/pseuds/lufthexe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As Nuada fought in the war against the humans, she watched in horror as the sleeves of her gown became stained crimson, knowing somewhere Nuada was suffering, fighting, all while she remained sequestered away in an aging court of a dying race.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nuada/Nuala (Hellboy)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Wounds to Bear</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Only 12 years late, amiright</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Nuada leaves for war, it is not without a price in blood; one that Nuala must pay.</p>
<p>It is not a decision made lightly; to leave, to war. It is a heavy thing that weighs on tightly drawn shoulders and worn-down nails, in the veins of them both as they hear the call to fight, war; Nuada welcomes it, lets the call fuel him, and Nuala feels the urge with dread, the slow encompassing sensation that something terrible waited just around the corner for them. For her. The war was separating them; Nuala could feel it even though Nuada might try to deny it. Perhaps it was the way of things; after so many years, centuries, of being inseparable, that one of them would slip away; tragic that it was the call of bloodlust that finally divided the two, Nuala thought. </p>
<p>And he was leaving her. </p>
<p><i>Leaving</i> her, for this ill-fated war with the humans. To risk their life to prove the superior species, to fight an endless enemy that knew only how to take and covet.</p>
<p>It cut as deep as any blade.<br/>
________________________________________</p>
<p>As a child, the ability entranced her. Nuada's bruises became her own, her skinned knees became his. If anything, it only brought them closer, another bond between the two twins. </p>
<p>She was never bothered by the blood, for her brother shared it with her -- theirs was only minor cuts and scrapes, nothing that could not be laughed off or taken care of by the gentle touch of a healer.</p>
<p>That was before.</p>
<p>As Nuada fought in the war against the humans, she watched in horror as the sleeves of her gown became stained crimson, knowing somewhere Nuada was suffering, fighting, all while she remained sequestered away in an aging court of a dying race.</p>
<p>She bled out his wounds, feeling only a fraction of whatever pain he felt, and it was her that the healers and handmaidens fussed over; <i>her</i>, when the worst she was made to endure was stained raiment and new scars.</p>
<p>And heartache, though there was no remedy for that which could be easily conjured with mortar and pestle.</p>
<p>Nuala had sent them all away, easing herself into the large stone bath, it’s scalding waters flushing her skin gold. She traced the blue-hued bruises, wondering what had caused them, how badly they all pained her brother. He was farther away now; his thoughts had become a quiet murmur, whereas before they had always been a dull roar. He rarely would speak to her directly through their link; but she caught his emotions; anger, pain, rage, bloodlust. </p>
<p>The day had been particularly gruesome, his wounds more prominent on her pale skin as fatigue and malnourishment pressed closer to the prince's aching body.</p>
<p>It must have been night, for Nuada to notice her probing. She could hear his voice as a whisper in her mind, a hiss of "Sissterrr..." that had her feeling chilled, despite the warmth of the water that enveloped her.  She tried not to tense, knowing he would notice, her fingers unconsciously pressing into the bruise on her hips as she let him reforge their connection. </p>
<p>The fatigue hit her like a wall, her heart loud against her ribcage as the bloodlust surged in her veins, the sensation curling her toes. It was utterly overwhelming; she had forgotten the overpowering presence of his mind, his thoughts; her defenses were down after years of being deprived him. </p>
<p>She would have asked him of his battles, his wounds, but the battle lust silenced her as he consumed her, drinking her in with unabashed thirst. It was too much, too disconcerting. She did not want to lose herself to her brother's unending greed, and yet craved his presence with the same fervor. </p>
<p>It was worse this way; missing him was overpowering, as was the need to see him, to brush her hands through his long hair and know he was close enough to touch. </p>
<p>It was worse in other ways, too; in the flesh, she could compartmentalize her own thoughts; in her mind, he was everywhere, all-encompassing and heavy, her own movements now languid as she felt his mind envelop her. </p>
<p>"Sister," he called again, and this time it was desire, bright and burning; her skin flushed gold and beaded with sweat at the ferocity of his visions.</p>
<p>It was a knot in her chest that moved steadily lower as she slowly relaxed. There was no denying him, she knew. </p>
<p>And Gods, did he hunger.</p>
<p>His heart was pounding faster than hers, his blood burning faster, louder, as his voice echoed in her mind; needy, possessive, demanding.</p>
<p>And she was not one to deny him anything. </p>
<p>It was almost too easy to conjure the memory, the visage of him, his voice now only a sharp intake of breath as hands searched, spreading fire and secret pleasure.</p>
<p>It was easy to forget guilt when desire took over. </p>
<p>And oh, did it consume.</p>
<p>Shaking hands were replaced with shaking breaths, the roiling in the pit of her stomach spreading fire as she whimpered. She could see him behind her eyelids, knew his own movements as her own, and shuddered at the touch of him. </p>
<p>He is the pressure behind her eyes, the relaxing of her spine as he takes control of her, his knot of lust pulsating at the pit of her stomach as his hands (her hands, what was the difference anymore) trailed along her flushed skin. Her heart was pounding so loud in her ears (or perhaps it was Nuada's own heartbeat) that if anyone would have tried to intrude, she would not have heard. </p>
<p>It had been so very long--years of being deprived him; and now to feel his caress again was a heady thing. The water was now uncomfortably hot as she could barely utter, "Gwador," before she was gasping, his fingers whisper-quick on quivering flesh, the paths to pleasure eagerly mapped and memorized. </p>
<p>Deft hands replacing her own quivering fingers with confident motions; she was helpless to the fire that spread, burning down the forest she had built around her heart in the long war, razing it until all that was left was raw and bare, Nuada surging in her as he felt her open to him again. </p>
<p>He was insistent and needy. He could try to hide it, but she could feel it in her veins, his desire for her just as all-consuming and terrible, though more heavily guarded. But he had always been so. </p>
<p>His fingers traced the scars across the top of her thighs--had it been a knife? Or perhaps an axe. She couldn't remember. It was regret she felt from him for marring her so completely.</p>
<p>But it was a whisper of a thought, not truly formed, not when sentimentality had been bled out of him and a wall forged between the two of them by their own father. </p>
<p>She writhed with him, her grasp tight on the edge of the bath as she quivered, her thoughts of him, him, all-consuming until she was nearly gasping, on the edge of what might nearly be completion, his fingers searching, searing, finding, until--</p>
<p>Nothing</p>
<p>Nuala's eyes shot open as she felt his lack of presence, the connection weakened enough to where she could only feel his heartbeat, but no longer his thoughts. She tried to reforge the connection and found him engaged in battle once again.</p>
<p>There was only worry, panic in her throat as she waited, her heart thudding loudly in her chest as she sat in the tepid water, waiting, always waiting for him and his War. Though perhaps it had become her War now, too; she bore the same scars.</p>
<p>And then there was guilt, crushing guilt that she had distracted him from his fight long enough to endanger him, to put him in harm's way. But no blood filled the gilded tub, only the quiet sloshing of water as Nuala shivered in constant limbo, the ache in her heart just as fierce as the one between her legs, brought so close to the precipice to only tumble backward to the ground. </p>
<p>It was hard to think straight, with the blood pounding in her ears so loudly. Hard to be patient, when she had already waited so many years for him to return to her, had been teased with a taste of what could have been, only to have it cruelly snatched away. The water cooled around her as her flush abated and her skin prickled with cold. She couldn’t be sure how much time had passed, but it was enough that her skin pruned, the light shiver now wracking her body with chills as she fought the urge to leave the tub. If she just stayed where she was, she could almost convince herself that he would come back and finish what he had started. </p>
<p>But his mind was as far away as ever, distracted and muted, and she felt the loss keenly. There would be no relief tonight; not from the hunger, or for him, as she could feel his own mounting frustration. Pressing her forehead against the cool porcelain, Nuala pressing her stinging eyes closed. Was it to always be this way, living this half-life, always in wait? Praying for some far-off day where the war was over, and Nuada was back by her side? </p>
<p>The burning pit of her stomach had cooled, leaving only the scars and aches of a warrior long lost to her. The fire that had threatened to consume her just moments earlier had cooled, now only the dying embers of a long-harbored desire that never could quite catch flame. </p>
<p>No, there would be no relief tonight.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>'Gwador' is Sindarin for 'brother'</p></blockquote></div></div>
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